Cellar

I find the mess in the cellar pleasing.

It looks like the day after a party. But the party is 20 years long and no one's sobering up any time soon. Instead of being half-empty cans and pools of sick the items down here include old bathroom tiles, cricket equipment and brass instruments from the long-defunct local church marching band down the road.

There's a perambulator chassis and crates of VHS tapes.

There's receptacles of differing kinds - beer bottles, plant pots, frying pans.

There's mouldy tents and fossils found at Scalby Mills.

The debris piles up as items fall out of day-to-day use upstairs and they come down here to die. It's not a party for inanimate object youths. It's a hospice for inanimate object pensioners. What the hell am I saying, it's a fucking cellar.

Anyroad, here's the photies:

Drums, Drawers, Amp, Keyboard.

Mess.

Pots and Wellies.

Trolley, Tyre, Bedframe, Tent.

Receptacles.

Lamp plus Two.

Drums, Tiles, Umbrella, Amp, Keyboard 1.

Drums, Tiles, Umbrella, Amp, Keyboard 2.

Drums, Tiles, Umbrella, Amp, Keyboard 3.

Stepladder, Beach Wind Shield, Orange jacket left by workman 15 years ago.

Light.